Freedom to Choose
by Second Star On The Left
Summary: Sansa didn't have freedom to choose, but she did so anyway. Companion to Husband, Wife, Husband. Accidentally became really porny.


**AN: **The Sansa/Willas to go with the Ned/Arya/Trys of _Husband, Wife, Husband. _I fiddled with the Tyrell boys' ages here – assuming Loras to be six years Sansa's senior (he's seventeen in GoT when she's eleven, right?) we're going to say that they're like steps of stairs, ie: Garlan is eighteen and Willas is nineteen at that stage, leaving him eight years older than Sansa, rather than the eleven I usually assume.

Also, not-crippled-Willas, come on down!

This also gives us a better idea of what the bloody hell is going on in the world of HWH.

Enjoy : )

PS: It kind of turned into porn in the middle and then became plot again I'm so sorry

* * *

The sunshine of the new summer seemed fresher and brighter than any Sansa had ever seen before, and it was in that light that she admired the shimmer of silver thread in her embroidery.

The other young women gathered around her – and truly, they were gathered with her as their centre, because she was to be their queen – were watching the young men sparring in the yard before them.

It was a blisteringly hot day – Sansa and her companions were seated under an awning the Dowager Queen had ordered erected for them to protect their skin from the sun, and the men had long since shed their armour and gambesons and even their shirts to prevent themselves from overheating.

Only Margaery seemed as able to ignore the twisting confusion of gleaming flesh parading up and down before them as Sansa herself, sitting at Sansa's right hand and chatting to her over their sewing while the others shamelessly ogled the men as they sparred.

Joffrey was there, golden hair and golden skin and golden sword bright, especially in contrast with his black boots and breeches, and Robb, too, sunburned to match his hair across his shoulders and chest and cheekbones, laughing with Renly who was a mass of freckles and good humour in the middle of it all.

Someone – Sansa suspected it was probably Renly – called "melee!" and it was as if every man in the yard turned as one. They laughed and cursed loudly, swords catching the sunlight and scattering it across the walls that rose high and red above them.

In the middle of it all stood the three Tyrells, backs together and swords flashing faster than any of the others could follow, fierce grins lighting up their lovely faces as they felled one man after another with shouts of "yield!". Renly, the last man standing not of Highgarden stock, fell dramatically onto his back, throwing his hand over his face and moaning as if mortally wounded. Sansa smiled and rolled her eyes at the man who would soon be her gooduncle, and even she set aside her sewing to watch the final contest between Margaery's brothers.

Willas and Loras turned immediately on Garlan – it was a sensible tactic, given that the middle brother had both the longest reach and the superior strength – and it was not long before he fell, just as dramatically as Renly had, and rolled off to the side, uncaring of the film of sand now clinging to his skin.

Watching Willas and Loras fight was mesmerising – not because they were beautiful, although they were, as alike as twins had Willas not been more heavily muscled and slightly taller, with shorter, neater hair and without the air of arrogance that clung to Loras like a second skin – because they did not merely fight, they _danced, _swords moving so quickly it was difficult, nigh on impossible, to follow them, feet touching the ground only lightly as they swayed and sashayed around one another. All traces of mirth were gone, all signs of merriment and laughter. Everyone knew how competitive the three Tyrell brothers were with one another, and everyone knew that Garlan was the counterweight to the borderline animosity that existed between Willas and Loras, heir and favourite.

Loras spun low, aiming for Willas' left knee with the flat of his sword, but Willas somehow leapt out of the way and brought the point of his blunted sword to Loras' neck with a wicked grin.

"Yield, little brother," he said lightly, standing on the blade of Loras' sword and grinning wider still. "And I may not butcher your pretty hair."

"I yield," Loras growled, brushing Willas aside as he rose and stormed away, and Willas threw back his head and laughed.

"The victor!" Renly cheered, stepping forward and raising Willas' hand. Willas rolled his eyes and pulled away with a smile, warm and open, and leaned down to scoop together a handful of the wildflowers that grew along the edge of the sand. He twisted them into a circlet as he crossed the yard to where the ladies sat and bowed low to Sansa, holding out a crown of yellow and white and green and even a smattering of deep purple-blue.

"A crown for the Queen of Love and Beauty," he said softly, and when Sansa met his eyes, she knew that he would be in her chambers tonight.

* * *

He was already stripped down to his breeches when she barred the door, reclining against her pillows with his hair ruffled as she liked and his long legs crossed at the ankle.

"You danced exquisitely this evening," he murmured, reaching out to take her hand and pull her down onto the bed beside him. "But when the fool dropped you… It was as if I couldn't breathe, Sansa."

"That fool is your king," she said primly, unpinning her hair and smiling when she felt him sit up behind her, his hands already on her hips. "You should show him more respect."

"Is it respectful to fuck his betrothed?"

"I suspect not."

"To make love to her, then?"

She turned her head enough to look at him, to meet his soft, dark eyes, and smiled again.

"That will do," she breathed, leaning in to taste the warmth of his mouth, to kiss him until her head was spinning and her heart racing. She had experienced few things as pleasurable as sharing a bed with Willas (sharing a bath was good, as was sharing a tiny space in one of the alcoves tucked around the library), and she took every opportunity she could to do just that.

There are representatives from Sunspear coming for the wedding," he murmured against her collarbone as he peeled away her gown. "Oberyn will be among them – he would like to meet you."

She let him guide her back against the pillows, fingers splayed over his shoulder blades, and sighed.

"He will meet me," she pointed out. "As Joffrey's betrothed."

Willas growled into the curve of her shoulder at that, hands hard as he stripped her bare underneath him.

"He will meet you as _my _lover," he told her, "I promise you that, Sansa."

* * *

"There is a Dornish delegation coming for the wedding," Father said, shaking his head. "It might be best to keep the King away from them as much as possible."

Sansa kept her eyes lowered and nibbled at her raisin bread. It always amused her when she knew such things before Father did, whether from Willas and Margaery or from any of the ladies desperate to curry favour by telling her bits and pieces of gossip.

"You seem to have a knack for easing tensions, Sansa," he added, causing her to lift her head in surprise. "Between Stannis and the Lannisters, coming up with the idea of marrying Shireen to Quentyn Martell-"

"Who will lead the Dornish party, Father?" she asked, sipping her lemonwater and smiling. "I thought Prince Doran's health did not much allow for him to travel?"

"It doesn't," Father agreed. "Prince Oberyn and Princess Arianne will be leading the delegation." He sighed then. "Try and keep them away from the Lannisters, sweetling – a war is the last thing we need."

_The last thing we need is for Joffrey to realise that I am not a maiden, _she thought, but she said nothing.

* * *

The Dornish were to arrive a week before the wedding, and in the month before their arrival Sansa spent only two nights without Willas in her bed.

On the last night before their arrival, Sansa found herself sprawled across Willas' chest, his arms tight around her and his face buried in her hair.

"I wish there was something I could do to stop this," he whispered. "Anything at all, I'd do it, Sansa, to have you I'd do anything in the world-"

"I know, love," she murmured, "I feel the same, you know that, but there is nothing to be done – I have been promised to Joffrey since we were children. I am trapped with him, and there is naught to be done-"

He kissed her, and she forgot all about Joffrey.

* * *

Sansa did dine with Prince Oberyn and his lady paramour, Ellaria Sand, that night, but it was also with many of the other Dornishmen, Princess Arianne, three of Prince Oberyn's bastard daughters and, of course, Willas.

"The King is a lucky man," Prince Oberyn said, pouring Sansa a cup of Arbor gold – she had tried Dornish sour for the first time during the meal and vowed never to drink it again – and leaning back, smiling just slightly. "You are a very beautiful woman, my lady."

Sansa flushed and ducked her head – she felt flushed anyways, flushed and lightheaded and warm right down to her bones – and hid her face against Willas' shoulder. They were alone with Prince Oberyn and Ellaria now, just the four of them sprawled out on the huge pillows that had replaced the furniture in Oberyn's solar.

"Thank you, your highness," she murmured demurely, blushing deeper when Willas laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple. He, at least, did not seem to fear that Oberyn might reveal the nature of their relationship, but Sansa still leaned away from him, afraid and uncertain.

Ellaria was watching her with a speculatively arched brow, and Sansa bit her lip. She didn't know how to react to them, to the casual way they discarded the courtesies in which she was so skilled, and so she was torn somewhere between surprise and a strange sort of acceptance when Ellaria leaned across Willas, her hand on his shoulder, and brought her lush, wine-reddened lips to Sansa's own.

Oberyn chuckled as they broke apart, and Sansa ducked her head into Willas' shoulder once more.

"If you will excuse me," she said as soon as she gathered her wits, staggering to her feet – she was drunker than she'd supposed, unused to drinking just wine with her dinner and no water. "I must-"

Willas stood with her, commendably steady on his feet, and slipped an arm around her waist to pull her close to him.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, leaning his brow against hers. "Sweet girl, never be afraid when I am here."

He kissed her then, and gods but she was drunk because she twisted her arms around his neck and kissed him back, opening her mouth under his with barely any prompting, pressing as close to him as she could-

The touch of another pair of lips on the back of her neck should have pulled her out of the haze that always descended when she kissed Willas, but it only spurred her on to kiss him deeper.

"What was in that wine?" she gasped when he pulled away and dropped his mouth to her throat. "I- Willas, I-"

"Ssh," he murmured, and she could feel him smiling over her shoulder to Oberyn the way Ellaria was smiling over Willas' shoulder at her. It was dizzying, so much sensation that she couldn't breathe, especially not when she felt her bodice loosen which made no sense at all-

"You'll be lost to me in a week," he said, so softly she almost couldn't hear, "and I want to give you one final night to remember before you have to live with that creature for the rest of your life, my love."

"Oh, Willas, but-"

"Oberyn and I have been friends for many years now," he told her, tilting his head back onto Ellaria's shoulder. "I trust him, and he trusts Ellaria – do you trust me?"

She couldn't speak, could only nod as Oberyn's hands, warm and not as big as Willas' and calloused differently, too, slid underneath her gown and cupped her breasts through her shift.

"They feel even better than they look," he teased, nipping at her earlobe and gods, gods her breath hitched and this was _wrong, _but where had Willas' doublet and shirt gone? It didn't really matter, not when Ellaria's hands were so enchantingly dark against his pale, freckled skin and she couldn't help but wonder what her own hands would look like on Oberyn's chest, her fingers spread wide, because she was even paler than Willas and Oberyn was darker again than Ellaria, sun-dark and so vibrantly alive that she shuddered with every touch of his skin to hers.

"Our Willas is a good lover, is he not, Lady Stark?" Oberyn asked her, voice ruthlessly seductive as he eased her gown down her shoulders and left it to pool at her feet before gently guiding her back to Willas. "Such lovely hands, hasn't he? Lovely long fingers-"

She moaned against Willas' mouth at the words, feeling giddy and lightheaded and all manner of lovely things that she knew she shouldn't be feeling, but she didn't _care-_

"Show Sansa how much you love Willas' hands, Ellaria," Oberyn suggested, sliding his arms around Sansa and guiding her back down onto one of the pillows.

It should have made her jealous, angry, sick even to see Willas half-naked and kissing another woman the way he usually kissed her.

It didn't.

Instead, she found herself arching into Oberyn's touch, never taking her eyes from Willas' hands moulding to the rich curves of Ellaria's body for more than a moment as she tugged at Oberyn's loose shirt, suddenly desperate to know if he would feel as good to her as Ellaria obviously felt to Willas.

He pressed her down into the pillow, smaller than Willas and harder, too, sharp lines of muscle where Willas was firm, and smelling of something far away, and his mouth tasted of sourwine but it didn't turn her stomach the way the wine itself had, and suddenly there was no room in her mind to think about Willas at all.

"You will make a wonderful queen," he told her, kneeling over her as he unwrapped her like a gift on his nameday, delight plain in his dark eyes as he took in her breasts and the dip of her waist and the jut of her hipbones above her smallclothes. "The people will hate your fool king, but they will love you."

She tried to respond, truly she did, but his mouth on her breast put any words out of her head as she sank her fingers into his hair and whined high in her throat, head falling back and oh _gods, _Willas had his fingers knotted through Ellaria's hair because she was on her knees before him with her mouth on him and-

"Oh gods!" she gasped, back arching because when had Oberyn managed to pull down her smallclothes, when had he done that and then set two of those quick fingers to work stroking over her most sensitive flesh and his grin was positively sinful, although not so much as the way he laughed when Willas choked on a shout, hips jerking towards Ellaria and-

"Do you wish it was you there in front of him?" Oberyn asked in that smoky voice, curling two fingers into her as Ellaria slumped down onto the pillow and kissed her and gods it was all _too much-_

When Ellaria released her, it was only to direct her to the stunning spectacle that was Willas pushing Oberyn mercilessly onto his back, mouth open over his skin as he sucked hot, hot kisses all down the older man's neck and across his chest, the sort of desperation he reserved for his most frantic interludes with her in the library in evidence and-

Ellaria shifted so she could peel away the filmy layers of her gown and she was so beautiful that Sansa simply had to touch her, to trace the pale spidery lines that branched across her stomach and around the edges of her full, heavy breasts, the swell of her hip and the thick nest of black, black curls between her legs, and she wondered just for a moment what might have been in that wine that made her so free, so _wanton. _

Ellaria's body is soft under Sansa's, and while she often heard of women described as ripe she never understood until she pressed herself fully against Ellaria and kissed her, again and again until she was lightheaded again, her fingers buried in Ellaria and Ellaria's fingers buried in her, Ellaria guiding Sansa's mouth to her breasts and oh, oh her skin tasted different to Willas' but not in a bad way, nothing here was bad, nothing here _could _be bad-

Willas' fingers traced up her spine and she shivered against Ellaria, gasped when he wound an arm around her waist and pulled her away, all but threw her down into the mound of pillows and crawled between her legs and oh oh _oh-_

"Oh, he's good at that," Ellaria laughed, husky voiced, and she leaned in to kiss Sansa again, lingering and nipping at her lower lip and "Would _you _like to try, my lady?" and she slung a leg over Sansa's face and this was like nothing Sansa had ever imagined doing, nothing at all, but the bitter tang of Ellaria's pleasure on her tongue was surprisingly shockingly good, and she kept one hand twisted into Willas' hair and the other clutched blindly at Ellaria's hip.

She could hear Oberyn somewhere nearby – of course he was nearby – but she couldn't make out a single one of his words, lost in the taste of Ellaria and the aching pleasure of Willas' mouth on her- on her _cunt, _oh gods if she was going to hell anyways she may as well start swearing, and it did all feel so good, she couldn't understand how something that felt so good could possibly be a sin as Septa Mordane had always taught her-

Her orgasm took her by surprise, and it seemed that it took Willas and Ellaria by surprise as well, if the way Willas' back jerked under her feet and Ellaria clenched around her fingers (when had she taken her hand from Ellaria's hip?) with a moan to match Sansa's own was anything to go on.

They lay in a tangle on the pillows for a long moment, gasping for breath all three with Oberyn lounging shamelessly naked alongside them, grinning at them all like some sort of benevolent god of depravity. Ellaria curled herself under his arm, smiling like a lazy, satisfied cat, and Willas…

He brushed Sansa's hair back from her face, eyes wide and dark and hot and gentle, and brushed a kiss over her temple.

"May I make love to you, my lady?" he asked softly, and _this last time _went unsaid, and it was all she could do to turn her head to kiss him, only vaguely aware of Ellaria settling against her back and-

"Oh, your highness," she said dazedly, reaching over Willas' shoulder to touch Oberyn's face, "you have not-"

He leaned down and bit at Willas' shoulder playfully, that wicked grin still bright, and laughed.

"Do not worry about me, my lady," he reassured her, his hand trailing around Willas' hip and down and Willas gasped, why was that? Not that it mattered, not with Willas kissing up her neck and over her chin and back to her mouth, and Ellaria was lifting Sansa's leg up high over Willas' thigh, over his hip, and he kissed her so tenderly and pushed inside her so gently that she wanted to weep because she would never have this again after tonight, Mother would be arriving tomorrow morning and there would be no way for Sansa to see Willas alone again-

She clutched at him as he fucked her, one arm draped across her as he touched Ellaria and Ellaria touched Sansa and Oberyn moved behind him, trying to memorise the feel and the taste and the smell and the sound of him, and she knew he was trying to do the same to her and it was all over much too soon.

She wept into her pillow that night, thinking of what might have been if not for Joffrey.

* * *

"I did not realise you loved her," Oberyn said bluntly, passing Willas a cup of wine the night before the royal wedding. "I knew you were smitten, but… I am sorry, my friend."

"I can't go to the wedding, Oberyn," Willas said, sounding almost as sick as he felt. "I can't watch that bastard wrap a cloak around Sansa. I can't do it."

"You must," Oberyn told him. "If you don't, people will ask why, and considering the queen-to-be's lack of maidenhead, the last thing she needs is people asking questions like that."

Willas sighed and let his head drop.

"I can't bear it, Oberyn. I- I can't."

"You _must," _Oberyn insisted, clapping Willas on the shoulder. "For her sake if nothing else."

* * *

Sansa was stunning in her wedding dress, the white and silver Stark cloak around her shoulders and her hair twisted up not in the styles her new goodmother so favoured but rather a softer, simpler, more elegant arrangement that flattered the shape of her face and held the plain silver circlet on her brow in place.

Willas ached to go to her during the feast, Baratheon black and gold a deeply unfunny jape around her shoulders to any who believed the whispers about the King's true parentage. He ached to hold her, to dance with her, to tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss the pale skin of her shoulder when her gown slipped slightly.

He caught her eye twice, both times just before she looked away sharply, and the pain in his chest sharpened horribly both times.

Garlan knew the truth of it all, and was the only thing that kept Willas in the hall during the feast.

* * *

"You seem less happy than I thought you would," Robb said worriedly, spinning Sansa easily around the floor. "Is everything alright? Has he done something-"

"No, Robb," she said tiredly, smiling weakly. "It has been a long day, that is all, and… And it will be longer yet."

Robb's face darkened at that, and Sansa turned away to hide her fear – what if Joffrey wasn't too drunk not to notice that she did not bleed? What if he questioned it, what if the washerwomen gossiped and word got back to Cersei, what if what if what _if?! _

Prince Oberyn danced by with Ellaria and winked, and she flushed crimson right to the roots of her hair. Her memories of that night were hazy at best (there _must _have been something in the wine!) but the sensations were not, and she could still almost feel Oberyn's fingers between her legs, almost taste Ellaria.

Willas spun past with Margaery and her heart twisted, because much as Margaery smiled it could not make up for the agony that burned in Willas' eyes.

"Oh," Robb said softly. "I did not know before. Oh, Sansa."

She still could not look at him, could only keep dancing and try not to break down in tears.

* * *

Willas left before the bedding, and Oberyn went to find him.

"Do not be downhearted," he said bracingly, patting Willas on the back and smiling just slightly. "All may not be as lost as it seems."

"She will stand by her marriage vows," Willas said quietly, leaning heavily on the balustrade. "She is a Stark to the backbone, and then a Tully – she knows her duty."

"Be that as it may," Oberyn said, "I fear the wine we brought for the King's cup only may be overpowering."

Willas' head snapped up then, his eyes wide and jaw slack in disbelief.

"You wouldn't-"

"The Lannisters have a Kingslayer – why shouldn't the Martells?"

* * *

Sansa's scream echoed right back down from the bridal chamber, and by the time the Kingsguard stepped back to let her father and brothers in she was curled up in the corner of the room with a sheet wrapped around her as she sobbed.

"Take Sansa back to the Tower," Father ordered, and Robb skirted around Joffrey's purple-faced corpse to get to his sister. "Has Maester Pycelle been sent for?"

"Ser Arys is gone for him," the Kingslayer said, staring at Joffrey with blank eyes.

Robb didn't hear anymore, too busy gathering the sheet around Sansa to ensure that she was covered, too busy cradling her as close to him as he could.

"I'm free," she whispered as soon as they were away from the Kingsguard and the Lannisters. "Robb, I'm _free!"_

* * *

There was a different wedding almost a year later, smaller and simpler and hung everywhere with white and golden-yellow roses.

Highgarden was the most beautiful place Sansa had ever seen, was everything she had ever dreamed of as a girl, and when Willas draped her in green-and-gold she was sure she would never be happier.

Years later, after Willas' leg was broken and their girls and Loras were born and they had settled into one another so perfectly Sansa couldn't imagine ever being apart again, she would breathe a sigh of relief that she and Willas and Oberyn and Ellaria had a very different relationship to Arya and Ned and Trystane.

She had a feeling her parents would approve even less of her and Willas having lovers, if only because they gave the appearance of being so very _good._


End file.
